


Filiality

by bubblewrapstargirl



Series: Paternal Egality [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, Implied Mpreg, Just the regular cannibalism, M/M, Murder Husbands, No such cannibalism takes place, Post-Mpreg, Post-Season/Series 03, Will is mildly concerned that Hannibal wants to eat their baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 11:51:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12816927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblewrapstargirl/pseuds/bubblewrapstargirl
Summary: To consume one’s own young was an act embraced by many predators.Hannibal cultivates and covets remarkable things, and his narcissism allows him to realise his God complex through fatherhood, in a way no macabre tableau will ever replicate.





	1. Chapter 1

“I must admit, when we were contemplating possible hereditary conditions, this particular consequence did not cross my mind.” Hannibal stated blandly.

The lack of inflection in his voice was entirely unreadable to anyone but Will, who heard the bemusement in every ordered word.

“An oversight, I admit, but one easily corrected.” Hannibal concluded.

Will frowned, running a gentle fingertip across their son’s left hand, automatically counting the fingers. His brain was still jarred by the extra digit on this singular hand: well-formed, but an unintended intrusion nethertheless. He cannot help the automatic rejection at the thought of Hannibal taking a scalpel to their son, however. For all that Will objectively admires Hannibal’s surgical skill, and the strength of those deadly hands, which can be so uncharacteristically delicate. Only when touching Will, and now their son. But considering Hannibal dissecting their child, even for medically accepted reasons, turned his stomach.

“He’s perfect as he is.” Will rumbled, and it did not taste like a lie.

Though Will can admit he too was taken aback, when he first saw that additional finger.

“If he wishes to undergo the surgery when he is older, it will be his choice. I don’t want us to take that from him.” He added.

 _The way you took so many choices from me,_  Will does not say, but he sees that Hannibal hears it, regardless.

“Perhaps he will gain an advantage, at the piano,” Will suggested.

He couldn't help beaming at the thought of their child as a grown boy. Their son was no longer the enigmatic entity of Will’s daydreams, but a real, solid weight in his arms, with a future and legacy all of his own. 

Hannibal hummed, unconvinced.

“I did not find it to be of undue assistance.” He revealed, before tilting his own left hand, so that the bedside lamp threw the thin, faded scar there into sharp relief. Will had noticed it before, but had never assumed its significance.

Hannibal was covered in minute, aged scars, most weathered away by time; like a canvas painted over anew. But now that Hannibal had drawn his focus, Will recognised the surgical precision of this particular mark, versus the many defensive wounds which Hannibal had gained from his hunts.

“But the choice was yours, to have it removed?”

Will framed it as a question, but they both knew that his empathy allowed him to see Hannibal as a young man; unphased by the uncommon anomaly his body had produced, but unwilling to keep a signifier of his variance from the herd. To be different was to be noticeable, and Hannibal only cultivated a certain kind of recognition; that of the whimsical, the eccentric, the harmless peculiar oddity, with his fussy tastes and strutting peacock clothes. A mutation, even a very small, party-trick one, was too much of a revelation of his inner self, which was not a member of the society it so smoothly blended into.

Hannibal acknowledged his not-question with a tip of his head, dark eyes still fixated on their son.

“What would you do with it? The finger?” Will asked, suddenly curious, yet with no intention of allowing for the answer, whatever it may be, to come true. An exercise in the hypothetical, which they no longer had the opportunity to indulge in on a regular basis. Too invested in the monstrous reality they could fashion from humanity's purile offerings. 

Hannibal released a small hum, contemplating his options. There cannot be many, for an ingredient so small. Will suppressed a shudder, at the thought of tasting their baby.

“A token, perhaps. An inlay of polished bone, stark white against silver.” Hannibal mused, and Will allowed himself to see it, the buffed bone shining smoothly, like a treated pearl.

“A cufflink? No, a charm, in a bracelet of milestones. A lock of hair, his first tooth.” Will added, unable to resist nursing the beast.

“A trite gauche,” Hannibal admitted, “But still with an inherent allure.”

Will forcefully shook away the image. Such trophies were gaudy, unsophisticated and ugly, when they were found in the homes of serial killers. Other serial killers. No doubt Hannibal would produce something splendid, or find a silversmith renowned for their artistry, to create something quite beautiful.

“If not the piano, maybe the flute,” He changed track, and allowed the fantasy to fall into the rumpled covers, where it was flattened between creases that still retained the lingering scent of blood and amniotic fluid, though they had been stripped and changed.

*

Will had been wary of permitting Hannibal to cook the placenta. Some niggling fear in the hindbrain that warned him against allowing the predator to gain the flavour of his flesh. It tasted delicious of course, with an accompaniment of autumnal vegetables and a red wine reduction, alcohol dizzyingly rich, after so many months without.

Hannibal had complimented him on his exquisite taste. Will tried to ignore that the shiver that ran down his spine was more of the thrill of generating attraction, being the object of attention, than of fear. He suspected their son would have a sibling before long, though. Hannibal was not one to deny himself, once he had gotten a taste for someone.

Mildly concerned, Will suggested black pudding, as a half-way point. Pregnancy had been trying on his body, and he desired recuperation, and the opportunity to dote on their son. Having no practical experience in childrearing, their endeavour at a slice of normalcy was already enough of an experiment. Will didn’t mind the odd blood-letting when a recipe required it. No doubt it would be a crisper taste, after such a strict maternity diet. Hannibal insisted that he was sweet enough before. But Will was not surprised by the compliments, as Hannibal set down his tasting spoon, and stirred Will’s blood on a low simmer.

*

“We’ll not tell Papa, hmm?” Will whispered conspiratorially, as he fed Tobias – Toby, out of Hannibal’s earshot – the sweet powdered mix dessert, which formed into a thick custard-like treat when prepared. Hannibal seemed intent on an organic diet, high in protein, naturally. Will did not voice his disapproval, preferring to stave off the inevitable arguments by simply treating their son to artificial, sugary products when Hannibal was not there. Many Italian food products were still incomprehensible, though Will had taken pains to learn the language to an acceptable degree.

He spoke to Toby in a mix of Louisiana Creole and English. Though Hannibal insisted on ‘proper’ French and a range of other European languages, Will was as stubborn as he ever had been. Louisiana Creole was a dying language, officially endangered, and he would have wanted Toby to speak to his daddy in that tongue, if his daddy had still been alive.

In Will’s memory palace, whenever his daddy pressed his gaunt, weathered hands to Toby’s tummy and breathed in his fresh baby scent, the terms of endearment that tripped off his tongue were always in Creole. It was a good memory, if an unreal one, and Will wasn’t about to let anyone take it from him. Daddy would have taken Toby fishing, would have taught him how to make lures, threading feathers with careful fingers. The memory of those calloused hands guiding his own never failed to settle Will, in moments of turmoil. Whenever Hannibal's gaze lingered hungrily on their son for too long.

Will was careful, with his own use of endearment, in any language. Hannibal was heavily invested in linguistics, influenced to a greater degree than he would ever admit. An encouragement to think of Toby in the same instance as sustenance is not an association Will cares to cultivate. Though Toby was a source of wonder, a symbol of their ability to create art through life, rather than a forceful transformation after death, Will caught the longing that lingered in Hannibal’s gaze. A hunger that would never be satiated, and did not need encouragement to grow and fester. 

His Lithuanian left much to be desired, but Will understood enough to know that Hannibal already considered Tobias to be their ‘little pistachio’. It could have been adorable, if Hannibal were capable of saying it in a manner that didn’t make Toby sound delectable.

*

Toby had been a large baby. Though still vulnerable, and quite capable of being held without difficulty in one of Hannibal’s steady hands, Will was assured he was over the average in weight and size. ‘Robust’ was the term Hannibal used, with no small amount of amusement. It had been a welcome admission for Will. To consume one’s own young was an act embraced by many predators when they found glaring fault. It was the runt snapped up into the jaws of its parent, rarely the prize pick of the litter.

Hannibal was a different sort of apex hunter, though. He would cherish the consummation of an object of affection. Feasting as an act of devoted appreciation, of love. The urge to boast his capability and virility was winning. Will watched with mild amusement and great relief, as Hannibal postured over Toby’s presentation to the Venetian elite. Hannibal was too invested in their transformation, their blossoming as partners and now parents, to jeopardise it. Tobias was not Abigail. His loss would be unforgiveable.

But Will can’t deny the uncomfortable squirm in his stomach when Hannibal playfully mouths at Toby’s curious fingertips, allowing their son to place his vulnerable little hands inside the jaws of the beast. Will does not think the alarm shows on his face. But he releases a quiet sigh of relief, just the same, when Toby is safe in his arms again.

As their boy grows, he is an obedient, attentive toddler, with an ability for intensive absorption in a task most adults would envy. He soaks up Hannibal’s instruction, in everything from art to scientific anatomy, though how much he comprehends is up for debate. His memory is impeccable, however, a blessed curse Will understands all too well.

He wonders if Toby would be so cherished, were he not so precocious. It matters nothing to Will, if their baby grows up to be athletic, academic or domestic, so long as he is healthy and assured of their affection. The same cannot be said for Hannibal. Hannibal cultivates and covets remarkable things, and his narcissism allows him to realise his God complex through fatherhood, in a way no macabre tableau will ever replicate. But Will fears for the day Toby is ever found wanting, and risks the legacy Hannibal is building for him.

That is why parents come in twos, Will decides. The mother, capable of tearing out the throat of the mate that would harm her children.

He wonders if he too, will really be capable, if the time comes.

*


	2. Chapter 2

The situation is entirely without mirth, and yet a bubble of hysterical laughter pops in Will’s throat regardless, smothered by his need to remain entirely present. Toby needs him, that much is evident. Hannibal is in full hunting mode, and quite incapable of responsible parenting at this moment. In his devolved state, Hannibal is far more likely to see Toby as wounded prey, rather than young in need of protecting. It takes scant seconds for Will to reach this conclusion. After stepping into their parlour, and taking in the half-dead intruder sprawled across the floor, stomach open, his blood black in the moonlight. Arterial spray covered the walls in two thick lines of spatter. Hannibal was standing over the still breathing body, chest heaving, a blood-slicked knife in one hand. Toby stood in the doorway in his footed pyjamas, pale in the darkness. Like a tiny spirit, wavering at the line between worlds.

It took Will but a moment to assess the very real nightmare, and scoop their boy into his arms. He immediately turned to face the gizzly scene unfolding in his favourite reading room, so that Toby could no longer see it. This moment was inevitable, the revelation, but it was not at all what Will had intended. He cannot speak for Hannibal in matters such as this. His husband loved nothing more than an organic reaction, to observe at close range the response to his opus. He had likely intended for a moment such as this.

They’d discussed it somewhat, agreeing that puberty was the natural volatile blossoming stage. Children were too easily broken, too unpredictable, and the onset of the worst psychological disorders came from traumas such as the one currently unfolding. Underneath the shock, and worry for his child, fury was simmering on a low boil in Will’s stomach. It will be ready to erupt on Hannibal, once Will has performed the unenviable task of reassuring and explaining the situation to their son. The situation as Will currently knows it, and will pretend to believe when he talks to Toby.

There have been various intruders throughout the years Will has known Hannibal, and not once has there a genuine burglar among them. Will is not the one who antagonises people into murderous hatred, nor taunts the other killers he crosses paths with, into deadly games of cat and mouse. Will is confident in placing the blame at Hannibal’s feet. It is far more likely than a random roaming killer, or an opportunistic thief, just so happening to stumble upon them as his potential victims.

Will tucks Toby, ice cold with fear, further into his chest and leads him away. The pendulum swings behind them, a silent swoop, and he sees Hannibal taunt the stranger, despite knowing Will and Toby are asleep upstairs. It shouldn’t matter, because Hannibal is entirely confident this man will never leave the room alive. He doesn’t anticipate Toby’s involvement, less still that the man will come in between them.

Hannibal does not expect the man has correctly surmised, that for all Hannibal’s disregard for general humanity, his public affection for his family is even deeper in private. The stranger will not fully understand that Tobias is the culmination of their becoming, their transformation. The masterpiece Hannibal is cultivating into his raison d’être. Because this man knew nothing of Will’s involvement; he had assumed Will was a mere trophy, a breeder necessary for the camouflage Hannibal has created, to hide his true nature. This intruder hadn’t identified them, only recognised a fellow predator in Hannibal. Perhaps he even thought harming Toby would unleash the 'true' Hannibal, something he incorrectly assumed had been repressed by their domestic life. He thought the monster playing at being a man had managed to swallow his own fiction.

Hannibal is often underestimated, but never has Toby come into consideration this way. In Will’s mind, the stranger steps toward their cherished boy, Hannibal’s heir. Jeopardising all their intentions, their vision of the future. There’s never been a better motive for murder, and Hannibal launches into a frenzy, one that won’t be satisfied until the intruder is in pieces, later served on a platter. Their parlour will be ruined. Truly ironic, if one takes into consideration that Hannibal recoiled from Will continuing the pregnancy, when they first learnt about Toby.

He’d been concerned the impact a child would have on their activities, and rightly so. They could hardly leave a baby alone for hours at a time, while they stalked and killed. It would split up their partnership, after only scant years of perfecting it. They could not drop everything and run, if they felt the net closing in. Any threat that found them would endanger the child also.

There was also the possibility of being entirely unable to bond with it. Will was the extreme exception in Hannibal’s appreciation of human life, the object of his obsession and devotion. It had been hard won, to become a devotion focused on building Will into a beautiful, independent creature, as opposed to breaking down his composite parts, so that Hannibal could peer inside and understand why Will was so utterly fascinating. So very essential, and worth keeping.

A child, even a biological one, carried no such guarantee of captivation. Babies were loud, messy, selfish creatures; dependant, rude and helpless. They were an investment that would take a quarter of a lifetime to remunerate. An entirely new being, with unpredictable capabilities, emotions, psychology and methodology. They could be shaped and moulded in their image, but ultimately, they were an entirely separate creature. Unless that creature was a reflection Hannibal could receive acclaim for, they would not be worth the effort, in his eyes.

Will had quite separate concerns. He was more worried about the ethics of raising an innocent to be indoctrinated into their lifestyle, while potentially passing on his faulty genetics. Still, the opportunity to recuperate the loss he had felt over the disaster with Abigail, and the missed chance with Margot, to regain some of the equilibrium he had gained with Molly and Walter, was too tempting to give up. He couldn’t deny a certain level of curiosity, of what a family life with Hannibal may look like. Not an idle hypothetical, a solid possibility already underway.

It had taken an appeal to the long-buried paternal feelings Hannibal had for Mischa, that had briefly resurfaced with Abigail. The possessive idea of Will, visibly swollen with his child. Hannibal’s greedy ownership of his body on bare display for all to see. Now, Hannibal considers Toby so much a part of him, any infringement on their son’s high spirits is a cause for murderous range over the violation. It is the entire reason Will has not fought Hannibal’s suggestion of home schooling. He knows any classmate that offends Toby will be ripe for a recipe card. To his knowledge, Hannibal has never killed a child. It is a fact he is not keen to change. There are few things Will can no longer accept. But even he still has enough morality left, to baulk at the death of even the most petulant, cruel child.

Back then, pregnant and apprehensive, there was a piece of Will, largely unacknowledged, which understood that there may come a day when Hannibal would disavow their child. They may even turn on one another. Many killers began with family members or close associates. A brutal emancipation. It was a thought that resided uneasily in the back of Will’s brain, occasionally fluttering with ill-developed wings. He considered his own fond memories of his daddy, and the choice was inevitable. One cannot live focused solely on the very worst possible outcomes.

For now, at least, Hannibal considers Toby an extension of them. As though he were literally still umbilically joined to Will. He tolerates a transgression against him, as much as he tolerates the same against himself. With a voracious thirst for the flesh of the uninvited, unwelcome party. Will doubts there will be much left of the carcass to consume, when Hannibal is done with it. He ignores the visceral, garbled sounds coming from behind them, as they ascend the stairs. 

*

Toby breathed shallowly in Will’s arms, shivering in sleep. He had been tucked into their huge master bed, Will wrapped all around him. They haven’t talked yet. Will instead susurrating soothing noises, smoothing down Toby’s unruly tumble of chocolate-brown curls. He could hardly anticipate the inevitable conversation, but could not stop himself from seeing it. Toby would ask him, in hesitant, quiet Creole, what Papa had done to the strange man. Who he was, and why he had been in their house, late at night. Will would kiss his curly crown, and reassure him that Hannibal had protected them both. That violence was sometimes necessary to prevent greater harm.

Toby would reflect in silence, as was his way. At almost five, he was already a serious, studiously dutiful child, but full of joy, with easily conjured, sweet smiles. Hannibal had insisted on the European format of education, and so he already attended formal half-day lessons, conducted primarily by Hannibal. Will taught chemistry and physics, though at this stage they lumped it all together under the title of science. Naturally, biology was Hannibal’s remit. As far as Toby was concerned, that was due solely to Papa’s history as a surgeon.

Music, geography and the other humanities Hannibal did not care unduly for, were conducted by a matronly tutor, a woman highly recommended by their socialite acquaintances. The classes were basic, but still advanced for a boy of his age. The unorthodox nature of his education allowed for greater deviation into topics of interest. When confronted by a challenge, Toby retreated into himself, pondering the problem quietly, often mulling over questions for days before enquiring. It reflected Will’s early years, though he suspected Hannibal felt the same. Neither of them asked for help lightly, and even at this early stage, Toby exhibited signs of the fierce independence they both upheld for the majority of their lives.

Will was terribly aware Toby could not dwell on the mystery of the man in the parlour without their express input. Hannibal would be utterly useless in this instance. Too used to manipulating vulnerable subjects into the most extreme iteration of themselves. He would be unable to resist pressing Toby in the direction he preferred. Discussion of this incident with him would only blatantly inspire the promotion of self-centred utilitarianism, focused solely on promoting the scope of their family’s interests. Will still saw something worthwhile in the majority of humanity. He would not allow Hannibal to poison their son’s naturally forming opinions too much. Nurturing one’s young required some transfer of ideology, but most parents understood the need to allow children room to formulate organic insight.

In this instance, Will would take charge, encouraging Toby to ask questions. He would keep mentioning the hypotheticals regarding the incident as much as was necessary. Repression only led to gruesome expulsion of emotions later. He wondered if Hannibal would argue much, or concede for the sake of marital harmony. Despite everything; the empathy and their bond, having thoroughly climbed into one another’s skin, Will and Hannibal were still separate people. There was still an exciting unpredictability in their relationship. He wondered if it would be sufficient, enough to withstand denunciation from Toby.

If, when their truth was unveiled, would filial piety continue to uphold their bond with their son, despite the horror of it? Where might Will himself stand, if a choice between them was to be made? The prevention of filial cannibalism was an issue Will had confronted and denied at every turn.

But had Hannibal ever considered that Toby’s rejection may be extreme enough to result in carnage, or attempted incarceration? Will severely doubted it; Hannibal tended not to dwell on unsavoury conclusions he did not intend to come to fruition. That did not prevent their execution, however, resulting only in Hannibal's peevish disappointment and flagrant displays of heartbreak.

Will shook off the intrusive vision of Toby, folded into a heart, on display in the church in Palermo. Perhaps he did know his choice, but if so, he refused to confront it. Too much time wasted on hypotheticals precluded the savouring of life as it unfolded, rich and ever bittersweet.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from? I've literally never written Hannigram fic, though I've been in the fandom since the beginning. I just know Hannibal wanted to eat Will a whole hell of a lot, and I find it weird that this isn't a concept that's been considered in any of the mpregs I've read in this fandom.
> 
> The name "Tobias" means goodness of God. No doubt Hannibal thought Budge unworthy of the name, unlike his own child, who is literally a goodness that came from him (and Will). Hannibal's killed so many people I doubt there's a name that would cross his mind that wouldn't have some association to a victim/witness etc. I'm sure Will wasn't into it at first, but you know what Hannibal's like when he gets an idea into his head. Hence the nickname.
> 
> Comments are much appreciated! This I my first attempt at this extremely precise fandom. Please give me your thoughts!


End file.
